


Building the Pyramid

by alice_time



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Building A Team, D/s to some degree, Delayed Orgasm, F/M, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Spanking, Solo doing things he shouldn't, Spanking, Stylish fashion, Thievery, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:46:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4596897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alice_time/pseuds/alice_time
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment a man says he's willing to put someone over his knee, I know I will end up writing fanfiction. So here's Illya putting Solo over his knee on a few occasions with some delightful team-building exercises with Gaby and sex. I have not written this much sex in a long time so...enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Foundation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment a man says he's willing to put someone over his knee, I know I will end up writing fanfiction so...here's part one of (3?) of my new favorite threesome coming together as a team and a little bit more than that. 
> 
> Also Solo does something stupid, nearly gets them caught and Illya feels the need to correct his behavior.

In spite of what his CIA handler had said all those months ago before Solo found himself Shanghaied into working for the newest group in the alphabet soup of world spy organizations, he was actually _very_ good at hiding his supplemental income. As it were. Sanders and his little spies had a small glimpse of Solo’s side-operations. It didn’t particularly bother him that the man confronted him about it. There had been, admittedly a small moment of panic but he handled it.

These days though, the pay was better. U.N.C.L.E. seemed to have a better budget than the CIA, or at least, they thought his quality of life was worth something. A happy former thief, in theory, is one that won’t steal during missions.

That was the theory.

Unfortunately, Solo had a magpie’s eye for diamonds and no small amount of narcissism about his abilities. Which was why they were running.

“Did you trip the alarm?” Illya snarled.

“Of course not, Peril.” He flashed a suave grin.

“Then why are there alarms going off?”

“Because the marquess must have realized someone stole her her earrings?” Solo phrased it as a question to soften his guilt in some way. “They were really not suited to her. I was doing her a favor.”

“You are worse than child.” Illya shook his head in disgust. “Come on Cowboy, and lose the earrings.”

Solo sighed as they skidded to a stop at the end of the hall. There was a window, no doors and it looked like a four story drop--into the canal the house overlooked.

“We swim.” Illya went to open the window and Solo slipped the earrings out of his pocket, setting them down in the center of the floor.

“In this suit?” Solo complained. "Do you know how much this cost? It's bespoke."

“You caused this,” Illya reminded him. He gestured at the window. “You first.”

“Oh no, after you.”

The tall Russian blinked, considering something for a moment. A moment later, he had Solo by the back of the neck and was tossing him out the window to the dark water below.

 _Well, this a fine revenge I suppose_. Solo thought.

The water was cold, but at least he’d managed not to break his legs on the landing. A very large splash to his right seconds later had to be the Peril, who surfaced a beat after. Solo raised his eyebrows.

“Now what, comrade?”

“Now? We swim.”

Solo had a niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach that they weren’t quite square. He put it out his mind and started swimming to shore, hoping Gaby had managed to snag their intel before his wandering hands caused a crisis. Otherwise, Illya was going to kill him.

 

***

 

Gaby was already back at the agency’s Venice safe house, fresh from a bath with her hair tucked up a towel while she touched up the polish on her toes. She peered at them through her lashes, stifling a laugh.

“What happened to you two?”

“Peril thought we should take a dip in the canal,” Solo explained with signature sarcasm dripping off his tongue. They’d managed to get somewhat dry, but Solo desperately wanted a bath himself. Canal water wasn’t all that it should be.

Luckily, the agency safe house was equipped with multiple bathtubs--and one shower. It was more like a stall at the end of the hall than a full bathing facility, but it was there. It leaked into the hallway anytime someone used it though and for some reason had a window.

“I’m going to wash up,” Solo said after a long moment of silence.

“Yes, good idea,” Illya replied.

Solo glanced at the Russian, uncertain. His hands weren’t shaking, no tapping of fingers indicated an imminent meltdown. Solo blinked. _Maybe he’s just going to let it go._

Illya stalked off to the second floor bath, leaving Solo and Gaby alone.

“What happened?” Gaby asked. “He seemed--upset. Why did the alarms go off?”

“I...have no idea. Did you get the intel?”

“Of course.” Her eyes narrowed. “You sure nothing went wrong on your end?”

“I’m sure.” Solo hurried out of the room before she asked any other questions. He had no doubt she’d react violently if he told her he’d caused their less than stealthy exit. For such a tiny thing, she had a mean right cross, as he’d learned intimately on their third mission together.

Solo tried to put that out of his mind and concentrated on ridding himself of canal water. The suit was ruined, he had to admit. Maybe he could convince Waverly to replace it since it was lost in the line of duty. Then again, having to explain to Waverly _why_ they’d needed to make a hasty exit might land him in more trouble than that in inquiry was worth.

He tossed the ruined things in the trash bin and set about washing away the night in a bath treated with delightfully expensive French bath salts. The muscles he’d strained somewhat in the fall were soothed by the hot water and he relaxed for a good quarter hour before washing up properly and getting out of the tub. Clean, dry and dressed in his good Egyptian cotton pajamas and a plush robe stolen from his favorite hotel in London, he headed back out to the living room to get a glass of Scotch and hopefully put this entire evening behind him.

Solo was settled on the couch, glass in hand, when Illya entered, hair wet from his own ablutions and dressed in flannel pajamas.

“Do you want a drink, Peril?” he asked, attempting to broker peace.

“No.” The Russian gave him a very long look. “This is not the first time your itchy fingers have risked the mission, Cowboy.”

Solo set the drink down, crossing his legs and settling into a lounge that was deceptively at ease. “I--It won’t happen again.”

“Unlikely.” Illya stalked forward, looking over him. Solo found it irritating on several levels that Illya was taller than him, but in that moment he found himself--intimidated. He didn’t like it. “I asked Gaby to go to bed. She will not disturb us while we settle matters.”

“Settle matters?” Solo raised his eyebrows. “Oh, this should be good. How exactly do you want to _settle matters_ , Peril?”

“I am going to put you over my knee and spank you until you are sorry for what you have done. If you are difficult, I will use belt.”

Solo blinked. He’d heard Illya threaten Gaby a couple times, which was usually followed by Gaby punching Illya in the face or some other similar display of violence and dominant refusal. He tried to keep violence as a secondary option.

“I am sorry for putting us at risk. See? No need for brutality, Peril. I’ll even write it down for you if you like.”

“No.” He shook his head and Solo noted that now there was a bit of tapping as Illya’s fingers beat against his leg. “You will be punished until you are _actually_ sorry.”

“I’d like to see you try, comrade.” He quirked one eyebrow up.

What followed was a short, bloodless altercation that cost Solo his dignity and killed the glass of Scotch. Illya had proven during their second encounter that he could subdue Solo and he proved it again. This time, Illya pinned the other man over his knee, legs trapped between his thighs while he twisted one arm up until Solo stopped struggling. Somewhere in the chaos, Solo had lost his robe. It lay on the hall floor, discarded when Illya tried to use the garment to get control. Solo hoped it hadn’t torn in the fray.

“You’re a dead man, Peril,” Solo promised.

“I think not, Cowboy.” It was an awkward position. If Solo had been any taller, it would have edged toward ridiculous, but as it was, Illya had a firm hold and a hand on Solo’s ass. “If you take this without struggling further, I will go easier on you.”

Solo had no doubt that if he continued his struggle this night was going to end with him pinned over the couch while Illya took a belt to him. He preferred to avoid such indignity. “Fine,” he muttered after a deep breath.

“Good.” Illya released his arm and adjusted Solo’s position to make him marginally more comfortable before he tugged down the man’s pajama bottoms. “You are not wearing underwear.”

“No."

“Less to take off,” Illya shrugged. “Now. You tell me why you are being punished.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Why are you being punished?”

“Because you’re a sadist.”

That earned him four very hard, very quick, strikes to his posterior. Mindful of his half-hearted promise not to struggle, he grit his teeth and took it. He thought his old drill sergeant would be mildly impressed.

“Why are you being punished?”

Solo unclenched his jaw. “Because I stole those earrings.”

“And?”

Solo swallowed. “I put my team in danger.” It was nearly a whisper, a harsh confession that managed to make guilt knot his stomach.

“Yes, you did.” Illya struck him again. “You do _not_ put your team in danger.” And again. “You do not steal _unless_ it is part of mission.” And again. “ _Am I clear_?” And again.

“Yes,” Solo hissed.

Illya hit him again. “Yes what?”

Solo nearly bit his tongue.

Another hard slap jarred him. “Yes, _sir._ ”

“Good boy.”

Solo wasn’t sure he liked being called _boy_ but wasn’t sure he _didn’t_ like it either.

“As I said, we will be done when you are sorry.”

Solo wanted to ask exactly when that was, but lost the ability to speak when Illya began to lay into him. It was measured, steady and relentless. Sure, once upon a time his old man had given him a spanking or two, but this was different. This was worse.

For one thing, the Red Peril had a much firmer hand, and for another--Solo was pretty sure he was actually feeling guilty about it. _For three, he might actually (deep down in the deep muck under the guilt) be a little turned on._

It had been impetuous--foolish--to take those earrings. He’d been so confident the marquess wouldn’t notice them missing until they were done. Confident he could fence them to continue the financing of his post-agency nest egg. Confidence could have gotten his team killed. _Ego._ He corrected himself. _My ego could have gotten us killed._

It was a whisper, barely a whisper, that first broke through his unintelligible mutterings in response to the pain Illya was dealing out. A soft, broken, “ _I’m sorry_.”

It was that little whisper that broke open something else. A badly abused gate at the back of Solo’s mind that he’d stuffed his conscience behind  those years ago after the war when he realized that money was better than relationships and that working alone was better than a team.

But now he _had_ a team. He had people he cared about. _Even Peril_. He could’ve gotten them killed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, Illya. I’m so sorry.” Silent, broken tears followed after the admittance. “I’m sorry.” His voice was raspy and unsteady. The spanking stopped.

Illya ran a hand through Solo’s hair. “Shh. I heard you.” Illya stood, pulling Solo up with him. “Shh. It’s all right now, Cowboy.” He wrapped his arms around the other man, pulling Solo’s head into his chest. “It’s over now. I forgive you.”

Solo wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do now. He was certain he wasn’t going to stop crying immediately. He was _certain_ he was ruining Illya’s shirt. He was certain he was never going to live this down.

He just didn’t know how he was supposed to proceed once the tears and the shaking stopped.

Illya did.

Once Solo had regained his composure and gotten his pants back on. Illya fixed him another Scotch and they took a seat on the couch. A very _ginger_ seat, in Solo’s case.

“So--well--that happened.” Solo swallowed, suddenly feeling incredibly embarrassed now that remorse and anger and been spent. “I can’t believe you.”

“Yes. I showed restraint.” Illya glanced at him. “You put us in danger again, I will use belt.”

Solo swallowed. “I think I’ll know to run next time.”

“I will chase you.” Illya leaned over putting a hand on the back of Solo’s neck. “I will find you. I always find you.”

The tension between them had changed in some regard, Solo was certain of it.

Solo glanced at Illya’s lips and realized with some surprise that the other agent was stroking the back of his neck with his thumb. Illya smiled and crowded closer, pressing their lips together for a chaste kiss that somehow managed to steal Solo’s breath away again.

Illya pulled back. “Finish your drink and go to bed, Cowboy. You have long day tomorrow.”

“Eh?”

“You still must apologize to Gaby.”

“Oh.”

Illya smiled. “I think she will be less forgiving than me.”

 _They’re going to kill me._ Solo thought. He finished his drink and headed upstairs to bed, though he didn’t immediately slip under the covers. His ass burned, necessitating he sleep on his stomach but first...Illya didn’t need to know that Solo slicked up his hands with a bottle of Parisian bath oil and came while thinking about Illya’s hard hands and soft lips.

He never needed to know about that.

  



	2. Stage One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaby is building her team. Illya is enthusiastic and Solo is in the dark.

A few favors were all it took to get Gaby to forgive him. Namely, her introduction to an old friend of his with a collection of expensive cars on their way through Rome before it was back to HQ for a debriefing of some sort. Illya was a bit mum on the details, which made Solo suspicious. Gaby didn’t seem concerned in the slightest, but she knew Waverly better than the rest of them. 

Officially, their little multi-national organization was headquartered in New York, but it was precisely located in  REDACTED . Solo thought they were a bit paranoid about the whole thing. As if anyone would ever look for spies in  REDACTED. Practically everyone knew where all the other national spy organizations were headquartered. If THRUSH really wanted to know where UNCLE was, they wouldn’t have to look that hard.  REDACTED wasn’t  that big of a city. 

When they arrived, Solo woke Gaby up from her nap. The tiny brunette had a habit of falling asleep in cars when she wasn’t driving. Even when Illya was driving, which was a feat unto itself. 

“Back already?” she blinked, fishing in the door for her sunglasses. “Let’s get this debriefing done, I was promised dinner somewhere that doesn’t put garlic in everything.” 

Solo smiled and hopped out of the car to open her door with a sweeping bow. She rolled her eyes, but smiled. 

Illya ignored the antics of his teammates, digging a case out of the trunk before handing the car keys off to the lot attendant to be parked as they headed inside the tall, unassuming building that housed UNCLE. They went up to the eleventh floor to Waverly’s office. The dapper Brit was already waiting for them, lounging behind his desk with an uncertain expression on his face. 

“Waverly,” Solo started. “Why the personal debrief? I thought we were supposed to being heading to Prague after Venice.” 

“I thought the three of you could use a little break,” Waverly said. “To sort out your team dynamic.”

“I don’t follow,” Solo replied. 

“Exactly,” Waverly replied. “You seem to have a hard time following Kuryakin’s orders. I don’t trust you in charge just yet and Ms. Teller hasn’t the field experience to lead. I need the three of you to figure out how to act like a proper team You have a week. Sort it out.” 

There was a brief pause. 

“Now, the disc if you please.” 

Gaby retrieved the disc they’d taken in Venice from her handbag and set it down on Waverly’s desk. 

“Dismissed.” 

Solo sighed. A week of team evaluations, that should be a wonderful time. 

 

***

_ Later, in the car .  _

 

“I follow your orders, who told him I don’t follow orders?” Solo frowned. “Did you tell him that?”

“Are you referring to me?” Illya asked. 

“Well, I wasn’t talking to Gaby, comrade.” 

Illya raised his eyebrows. “I told him there was an incident and I handled it.”

Solo blushed, though he would never admit it. 

“ _ I _ told him we needed to work on our team,” Gaby said. “And we do.”

Solo took a long look at the woman, wondering for a moment if he could strangle her with her scarf quicker than Illya could stop him.  _ No, probably not .  _

She smiled, batting her eyelashes. “Don’t worry, Solo. I’m sure if you put all of your energy in learning to be a team player you won’t end up with a bruised ass again.”

His smile tightened. 

“Gaby, be nice to Cowboy,” Illya rebuked. “He’s not the only one I will put over my knee.” 

Solo smiled and glanced back at Gaby, who was blushing just a bit. 

“And I’ll slap you in the face--again.” 

“That wasn’t a very good come back, Gaby,” Solo remarked. 

“Shut up, Napoleon.” 

“Only my mother calls me Napoleon.” He leaned against the car door to put more space between them. He still wasn’t completely certain how they had ended up in the back seat together with Illya driving--like they were children. He eyed her dress. “Did Illya put you in that?”

“Yes.” 

He made a face. “Illya that doesn’t match.” 

“We’ve talked about this, Cowboy.” 

Solo grinned for a brief moment. Gaby’s eyes narrowed. She leaned over, moving into his personal space. “Are you baiting him on purpose?” she whispered. 

“Of course not.” 

She grinned. “Uh huh.” She leaned back and shook her head. “You are worse than me,” she mouthed. 

“What are you two talking about?” Illya asked. 

“Interpersonal relationships,” Gaby said.

“Good,” Illya made an approving face. “Good to see you starting work.”

Gaby started to laugh and Solo sighed. _ I need a drink. _

They arrived at what appeared to be a decent, though not four star, hotel. Solo had doubts it was  _ actually _ a hotel. For one, there were a few too many security cameras and the locks on the doors were CIA-grade. Very suspicious. They were given keys to rooms and sent on their way. Solo’s suspicions were further raised when he found hidden cameras and speakers in his room. He also found several of Illya’s trackers in his suitcase.  _ Typical. _

He sighed and headed for Illya’s room to return them. The door was locked, and for a brief moment he considered knocking and then decided against it. Instead, he picked the lock and gently pushed the door open. He slipped inside the room, ear perked. At first, he wasn’t even certain that Illya was in the room until he heard a clatter from the bathroom.  _ That man spends too much time in the bathroom . _

Solo set the trackers down on a nearby table and almost immediately caught a familiar scent--Gaby’s perfume. 

A very soft moan came from the bathroom. He raised his eyebrows and padded to the door. Peering inside would put him at risk of being seen, but as he looked around the room, he spied a mirror across the way. Gaby was in Illya’s arms, legs wrapped around his naked torso as she kissed him, hands on his face while his arms held her up. 

Solo swallowed as they moved, knocking over more toiletries as Illya backed into the sink for support. Gaby was grinding against the Russian giant with wicked intent. Soft, needy little moans escaped from her lips every time she came up for air. She ran her hands through Illya’s hair, gripping tight as he moved from her lips to her neck, nipping at the delicate skin as his hands tightened their grip on her ass, in perfect view with her dress rucked up about her waist. Solo watched, in frozen lust, as Illya turned around, setting Gaby down on the sink to tug down her panties. His view wasn’t quite what he would have liked as Illya began to work. 

“Tell me,” Illya whispered, “little Chop Shop Girl, is this building team?”

She bucked as his fingers slipped inside her, panting--lips swollen and red from his kisses. “Stage one,” she replied. 

“What is stage two?” He continued his assault with one hand while undoing his belt and trousers with the other. 

“You and Solo make nice,” she replied. “While  _ I  _ watch.” 

Solo’s heart thudded.  _ Did she know he was there? _ He saw her gaze, staring straight into the mirror he watched and was pretty damn sure she knew. Still, he couldn’t move, rooted to the spot as Illya lifted her back up off the counter and pushed inside her. Gaby held onto his shoulders, rolling herself up and down while his fingers pressed hard into the soft flesh of her ass. 

Solo watched as she rode Illya, hips rolling and head back as she panted, begging in German until she came in his arms, clinging to his neck. He swallowed as she continued to roll her hips, continued to ride until Illya came in a harsh grunt of Russian that sounded something like a prayer and they kissed again. 

The spell seemed to break as they panted, passion near spent, and Solo rushed quietly from the room and back into his own, locking the door  and heading straight for the bathroom. He was hard,  _ very _ hard, straining his well made trousers. With little preamble and slash of lotion he took care of himself--still thinking about Illya’s straining shoulders and Gaby’s perfect lips. Still thinking about Illya’s hard hands and Gaby’s beautiful legs. 

After, he took a very long shower and tried to put the matter out of his head. 

 

***

 

“You’re very quiet this morning,” Gaby noted over breakfast. “Did you sleep all right,  _ Napoleon _ _?_ ” 

“I slept fine, thank you Gaby.” Solo sipped his coffee. “So when does the team building actually start then?”

“It already has,” she said. 

If bathroom sex was what Gaby considered team building, things might not be quite as bad as Solo thought. He wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to have sex with Gaby though. The sexual tension between her and Illya had been there from the start. He didn’t want to come between them. Especially if things were going well. 

“Where’s Illya?” he asked after a moment. “Preparing an obstacle course? Killing a man with a bagel? Perhaps bugging the entire hotel--which is of course already bugged.”  _ And empty of other guests. _

“He went for a run. Don’t worry, he’ll still have plenty of energy for team building later.”

“Okay.” His eyes narrowed. “Why do I feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on here? Even before we got here you seemed to have handle on things and Peril hasn’t even blinked. It’s suspicious.” 

“Don’t be silly.” 

Solo frowned. “I--”

Illya chose that moment to make it to breakfast, a bit flushed from his run and hair went from a shower. “Good morning. Ah, good, sausages.” He took a seat. “Not as good as in Russia but not bad.” 

“Is everything better in Russia then?” Solo quipped. 

“No. In Russia we do not have this cheese,” Illya forked some of it. “I like this cheese.”

“Okay.”

“What is wrong with Cowboy?” Illya looked at Gaby. 

“He thinks we’re keeping something from him.”

“Ah. This is true.” Illya looked at Solo. “You and I will be working today. Becoming team. Tomorrow or day after--depending on how today goes--the three of us become team.”

“I am very confused,” Solo replied. 

“No confusion. You and I have sex. Gaby and I have sex. Three of us, have sex.” He shrugged. “Not way we do it Russia, but I want you both and you need different things--but I can give them. I need things and you can give them. Gaby agreed already. Today you and I work out if we agree. Then, if we all agree, we are team.”

Solo swallowed, glad he hadn’t been eating. Choking would have been inopportune. “You want... _ both _ of us?”

“Yes and you both want me. You may even want each other a little. Is this so hard to fathom?”

“No, I mean I’ve been in bed with more than one person before it’s just…” Solo licked his lips. “This is different, somehow.” 

Illya nodded. “It is different. But when I know every inch of your skin, when you know mine, we will work better together. Harmony. Besides, I already know one secret of yours.”

“Oh?”   


“I know, deep down, you  _ liked _ when I spanked you.”   


Solo flushed. 

“Breakfast first now. You’ll need your strength. Long day and all.”

Solo put a piece of toast in his mouth, more to keep something from coming out than out of a desire to eat it.  _ What have I gotten myself into now? _


	3. Stage Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Solo and Illya discuss needs.

Skeptical, curious and more than a little turned on, Solo trailed after Illya once breakfast was over.

“What about the surveillance?” Solo asked. “Do you think it’s a good idea to let everything we’re doing go on record?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Illya scoffed. “I took care of those first thing.”

“Of course you did. How silly of me.” Solo wasn’t exactly as tech savvy as his Russian counterpart, but he didn’t really want to admit that.

“I noticed you returned my bugs,” Illya remarked.

“Yes. You were sleeping, I didn’t want to bother you.” Solo flashed back momentarily to Illya and Gaby’s bathroom encounter and flushed. “Stop putting trackers in my shoes. They’re Italian leather.”

Illya rolled his eyes. “I was not sleeping when you crept into room like thief.” He gave Solo a sharp look. “Did you enjoy show?”

Solo swallowed, pretending desperately that he wasn’t red to the tips of his ears. “Uh…”

They had reached Illya’s room. Solo realized he had about ten seconds to make a decision. If he followed Illya into his room he knew—he knew he was going to have sex with the man. He wasn’t entirely certain what else was going to happen between them during that time. What negotiations would occur or agreements made. He just knew that the threshold was the point of no return.

Illya pushed open his door, turning to lean against the door frame, eyes fixed on Solo. “Do you enjoy being naughty boy?”

Solo swallowed again. “Illya…”

“I know what you need. I know what you want.” Illya took Solo’s hand. “Say word and we begin, or walk away now and we try to make team work without this.”

_It won’t work without this._ Solo shook his head. “No—I want this.”

Illya smiled and leaned down to press a kiss against Solo’s lips. It was just as gentle as the first time. “Good. Come inside, we must talk first.”

“Okay, Peril.”

Illya took his hand and led him into the suite. The Russian poured them drinks and Solo settled into a casual recline, sipping the bourbon. Illya took the armchair across from him and smiled. “You are always so self-contained. Certain. Except when I had you over my knee. You were beautiful. Honest.”

Solo finished his drink. “I wasn’t that honest.”

“You were. You need to be honest now. What do you want?”

“In life? I’m hoping to retire to the south of France and live idly.”

Illya shook his head. “No. You would never like that. You enjoy danger. You enjoy the chase. Being chase.”

Solo smiled. “Maybe I do.”

“So tell me. What do you want?”

“I want—I want someone to make me feel something that isn’t ego.” He swallowed. “You do that. Gaby does that. When you—when you spanked me…” He shook his head.

“Continue.”

“I felt something. I felt like you were giving me permission to let go and feel. To feel guilt and remorse and…I guess it’s been a long time since I’ve felt like I could let go.”

“This is what you need. To let go. To let someone else be in charge of you. If only for little while.” Illya smiled. “I can give you that.”

“What about you? What do you need?”

“This is not about me. Not yet. We start with you.” He set his glass aside. “Now, why don’t we talk about what happens to naughty boys who spy on their partners?” He raised his eyebrows. “Hmm?”  
Solo felt his heart beat speed up. Illya stood, looming over him and then leaning down, bracing himself with a hand on each arm of the chair.

“What do you think happens to such naughty boys?”

Solo put his glass aside. “They—they get punished.”

Illya nodded, a smile lingering on his lips. “Yes they do.”

“I think, you’re going to have to catch me first, Peril.” Solo smiled. “It’s only fair.”

“You think you can get away?” Illya shook his head. “Your ego is bigger than I thought.”

Solo shrugged. “What can I say? I am the CIA’s best after all. I have reputation to uphold.”

“You do remember how this has gone before?”

“We learn from our mistakes, Peril. Let’s see if I’ve learned anything.” He flashed a bright smile.

“I doubt very much you have.”

Solo licked his lips, grabbed onto Illya’s collar and tugged him down to kiss him. Yes, thieving was Solo’s primary skillset but he was no slouch at seduction. Illya was a red-blooded male and Solo was going to give it his all. Yes, spanking did turn him on, but that didn’t mean he was going to let the big lug have his way. It wasn’t in him. Plus, the chase made it kind of…more exciting.

Illya growled as Solo continued his advance, moving to his feet and angling himself as close as he could, grinding his hips against Illya. He ran his hands through Illya’s hair, nibbling on his lips. Illya pulled back, smiling.

“You are desperate, Cowboy.”  
“Catch me if you can, Peril.” Solo turned, pushing Illya away with a swift hip check and then ran away as quickly as he could.

Illya growled something unintelligible in Russian and set off in pursuit. The chase took them around the suite, down the hall and then into Solo’s room, out of Solo’s room, down another hall, down some stairs and then up some stairs. There was a brief bit of grappling in the foyer before Solo managed to escape into an elevator, doors closing on Peril’s face. He shook his head and hurried for the stairs, catching Solo as the door opened on their floor.

“Nice try, Cowboy.”

There was yet another bit of grappling, which ended with Solo slung over Illya’ shoulder awkwardly as the Russian headed back into his suite with his prize.

“Very naughty,” Illya whispered. “Making me chase you.”

“Had to make you work for it comrade,” Solo replied.

The fight wasn’t completely out of the American just yet. He thrashed in Illya’s arms as the man grappled him over the arm of the nearest chair.

“Are you done?” Illya asked. “Are you ready to be punished?”

Solo took a deep breath, his heart racing. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Illya unbuttoned Solo’s fly and tugged his trousers and underwear down to his knees. Illya examined Solo’s smooth ass in more detail this time. Noted the small scar on Solo’s thigh, the dusting of birth marks. He licked his lips and stroked the curve of Solo’s ass.

“Your skin is so smooth. Pale.” Illya chewed on his lower lip. “It is going to be even prettier bright red.”

Solo took a shuddering breath in preparation, but the force of the first smack forced it all out again. Illya set a steady pace, less violent than their first encounter. He was taking his time, coloring Solo’s cheeks with precision. Solo gripped the other arm of the chair, panting, biting on his lip and trying his best not to give himself away. The first spanking had been purely punishment, but this was different. The pace, the intensity—the reaction of his dick. He could feel himself getting hard, pressed against the arm of the chair.

Illya stopped his assault to rub Solo’s ass and tapped on his thighs. “Spread legs.”

Solo complied and the Russian reached between his legs. Illya tsked. “Getting all worked up from a spanking…you are naughty boy.”

Illya pulled him up from the chair, slipping his hand around Solo’s dick. “What should I do with this then?”

Solo’s breaths came with shuddering imprecision as he turned his head to look at Illya over his shoulder. “I don’t know, Peril, maybe you should show me yours…” He licked his lips. “I can show you how sorry I am for being such a naughty boy.”

Illya growled. “Thing things you say…”

Solo smiled. “Come on, comrade.”

“Fine.” Illya let him go and Solo turned around to face him, pushing the Russian back so he could slip down onto his knees. He looked back up—and up—at Illya’s face, licking his lips again. “You are obscene,” Illya choked.

“I know.” Solo reached for Illya’s pants, already tented and unbuckling the belt to slide it free, dropping it onto the floor with his eyebrows raised. “Maybe next time you’ll have to use a belt.”

“I have no doubt.”  
Solo smiled again and undid Illya’s fly, reaching for the straining muscle with rapt attention. He leaned up, kissing the head and licking gently.

Illya moaned.

“I know what you need too, comrade,” Solo whispered.

“Oh?”

“You need to release some tension.” He wrapped his lips around Illya and engaged in the slowest, wettest campaign of tongue and suction he could manage against the size of his task. Solo was quite determined, but as Illya drew closer and closer to release, hand gripping Solo’s hair as he fought back the tide of sensation, he pulled away.

Solo breathed, eyebrows drawn down and a pout settled on his reddened lips. “Hey.”  
“Not yet. Not yet.” Illya shook his head. “Bedroom.” He tugged Solo to his feet and kissed him, hands running through the sweat damp hair. “I want to give you everything you need.” He pulled Solo close. “I want to be inside you when you come.”

Solo shuddered. “The things you say,” he whispered, kissing Illya, hands clinging to the other man’s shoulders, running down his back. “Fuck me,” he begged. “Do it.”

Illya smiled against the next kiss and helped Solo strip before leading him into the bedroom. Illya knew what Solo needed, more than punishment, more than humiliation—more than the desire to be chased down and caught like some wild thing—was connection. He wanted to connect with other people. He wanted an anchor. Illya wanted to be his anchor.

He would do anything for his team.

For the man and the woman that he—he cared so deeply for. Feelings that drove him crazy. Drove him to possess. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost either one of them. Solo laid himself down on the bed, reddened ass in the air, peering over his shoulder with a smirk on his kissable lips. “Well?”

Illya stripped, “You are the worst kind of American.”

“Am I?”  
“Yes. And I will teach you so many more lessons, I think.”  
“I know.”

Illya smiled, mounting the bed and crawling over Solo’s legs. He stared at his handiwork for a brief moment. “Red is a good color on you.” He smacked Solo’s ass again and reached for the bottle of lube he’d set aside earlier in preparation for this eventuality.

Solo moaned, panting as Illya worked him open with one finger and then another, brushing against his sensitive interior with his long fingers.

“Yes, make music for me cowboy.”

“Fuck, Illya—stop playing with me.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Please—please fuck me—sir.”

Illya could hardly deny such an earnest request. He laughed and drew out his fingers, lined himself up and began—slowly—to push himself inside while Solo moaned. It still burned, but it was a good burn. Solo had admitted to only the rarest of bedmates that he enjoyed a bit of pain but Illya wasn’t just another bedmate. He knew that. He also knew that someday this team would be over. They would be broken up, go their separate ways so…He was going to take advantage of now. Take everything Illya was willing to give him. Whatever punishment he deserved to spend more moments like this, panting in desperate sensation as he drew closer to climax, listening to Illya’s own whimpers and moans.

He dug his fingers into the bedcovers as Illya sped up the pace, and then surprised Solo entirely by wrapping his arms around Solo’s chest and pulling him up, moving the American with gentle thrusts of his hips, hands splayed over Solo’s broad chest, a thumb catching one dark nipple. Illya kissed Solo’s back, and then his neck. He brushed his lips up, pressing them down at the hollow behind Solo’s ears. He nibbled and dug his nails into Solo’s chest. The sting and the friction and the burn of the sensitive skin of his ass rolled together into a ball of sensation that finally overwhelmed him and he came.

Solo reached back, grabbing Illya’s head as he rocked up and down—panting and breathless until Illya came. “God—Illya.”

Illya breathed something into Solo’s ear he didn’t quite catch. Something in Russian.

“What was that?” Solo asked.

Illya shook his head and kissed Solo’s neck. “Nothing, cowboy.”

It wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

But it was probably _I love you_.


	4. Stage Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the last chapter. I might have some director's cuts later, but that'll be drabbley at best. Thanks for reading. I hope you all enjoy. I had to add new tags just for this chapter.

 “How did it go?” Gaby asked, peering up from her magazine as Solo entered the room.

“I believe he said something about you,” Solo replied. “And wrestling.”

Gaby smiled. “Oh good. He likes his women strong, you know?”

“I suppose that’s a good quality in a team mate as well. Other than driving skills and mechanical repair. Which you also excel at.”

She smiled, eyebrows drawn down in confusion. “What has brought this on?”

“We are a team. I realize that that means I am not a one man band. I should appreciate my teammates. I appreciate you.”

“Well. I applaud Illya’s technique. Clearly he is a master at team building.”

Solo laughed. “That’s one way to put it.”

“What are you two laughing about?” Illya asked.

“Don’t worry, not at you,” Gaby replied.

“Good.” He settled down next to her on the couch and eyed Solo. “Sit down, Cowboy.” He pat the spot next to him.

Solo raised his eyebrows but took the seat, sandwiching Illya between himself and the tiny German.

“This is how we work,” Illya started. “Solo, you tell me when you start to feel like doing something stupid and we work it out. Gaby, you tell me when you feel like doing something reckless and we work it out.”

Gaby batted her eyelashes. “Reckless? Me?”

“Yes, reckless, Chop Shop Girl.”

She blushed.

Solo managed not to laugh, it was an impressive feat.

Illya took Solo’s hand in his and then Gaby’s. “I will be bridge between you.”

“What about you?” Gaby said. “Who will help you when your temper gets the best of you?”

“I have you both for that,” he replied. “No man is perfect. I come close, but I am not perfect.” He flashed a smile. “We need each other. You calm me, Gaby and Cowboy—you give me an outlet for my anger.”

“Happy to help, Peril.”

“So now what?” Gaby asked. “We still have days left to team build.” She pulled herself closer to Illya. “Days.”

“We still have more to talk about.” Illya gave her a look. “Rules to start.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

“We will rotate who is in charge of missions. The person best suited will lead.”  
Solo made a face, somewhat surprised but also pleased.

“But when I am in charge, you obey orders I give.”

“What if the order is stupid?” Solo asked, giving Illya a sidelong glance that was about three steps from outright insubordinate.

“Then we discuss.” He took Solo’s hand. “But you have to trust me. I have to trust you. This is all about trust.”

After a moment, Solo nodded. “All right, Peril. But when I’m in charge I expect you listen to me too.”

“Of course, unless you are being ridiculous.” Peril smiled and brought Solo’s hand to his lips, kissing it gently. “Then we discuss.”

“This sounds fair,” Gaby said. “I suppose.”

“Good. Next rule--Solo will not steal during missions unless it is part of mission.”

“Saw that coming, comrade.”

“Yes.” Peril shook his head and looked to Gaby. “And you, little chop shop girl.”   
She batted her eyelashes. “Me?”

“You will stop resorting to recklessness in place of plans.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Yes you do.” He turned toward her. “Solo may have put last mission at risk, but who was it that nearly blew us all up in Istanbul?”

“Well…”  
“You are reckless. Not trained agent, but you are learning. You are good at many things. You will be good agent.”

“Thank you and...all right.”

“Good.” He smiled and nodded. “Now we move onto what happens when you break rules.”

Solo and Gaby exchanged looks.

“You know I will put you over my knee, Solo.”   
“Yes, Peril.”

“I tell you this, when you are you being punished it is only punishment--no sex. Our games are different from the maintenance of this team. Understood?”

“Yes--sir.”

That earned him a smile. “Good boy.”

Solo flushed.

“The same goes for you, Gaby. We may not do the same things in bed that Solo and I do, but I if you put us at risk, I will punish you.”

“And what if you lose your temper and put all of us in danger? What then?” Gaby asked.

“Then I will be punished.” He shrugged. “It is only fair.”

“Good,” Gaby turned her head. “Fair.”

“Now, why don’t we work on building team?” Illya pulled her into his lap, a smile stretched across his face. “Now that unpleasantness is over?” He took a breath. “If there is any time during our--recreation--that you need to stop. You call red, and we stop. Clear?”

“Crystal,” Solo said.”

“Clear,” Gaby said.

“Good.”

She smiled. “All right, Illya, time for step three.” She kissed him gently. “Let’s see if you can keep up with both of us.”

Solo laughed. “That’s a tall order, Gaby.”  
“Yes, but he seems so confident and in charge.” She smiled. “Well, Illya?”

“I will have you both begging,” he growled.

Gaby rolled her hips, finding Illya slowly hardening under her. “We’ll see about that, comrade.”

Illya put his hands on her hips as she shifted to straddle his lap, grinding against him. He gripped tight, stilling her with a soft growl. “Naughty girl.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

Solo took the opportunity to lean in and kissed Illya’s cheek with an impish smile before sliding down to kiss his neck, nibbling behind his ear. Gaby ran a hand through Illya’s hair and began to unbutton his shirt with the other.

Solo slipped around to the other side of the couch to suck bruises onto the other side of Illya’s neck, determined to leave his own special mark as Illya had left his. Gaby peeled open Illya’s shirt, running her nails down his chest with a wicked smile.

“Naughty girls and boys will be sorry,” Illya promised.

Gaby smiled.

Illya moved his hands up to the zipper at the back of her dress, pulling it down with slow determination as she resumed pressing herself against him.

Solo took a moment to step back and stripped off his shirt, stepping up behind Gaby and helping Illya pull her dress off over her head. Bra-less, her delicate, pert breasts were within easy reach and Illya took advantage, pulling her close to suck on her nipples. She tilted her head back, moaning softly, eyes closed. Solo smiled, brushing his hand along her cheek. She peered up at him and smiled.

He answered with a chaste kiss.

Illya pulled back, eying his partners with lust. “Bedroom. Now.”

“What, you afraid we’ll ruin the couch?” Solo asked.

“Bedroom.”   
“All right, comrade.” Solo started sauntering in that direction while Illya stood, lifting Gaby into his arms, and following after.

***

 

Trying to arrange for the perfect combination of three bodies is a poor way of going about things. Solo had experience in that area and utilized it now. It was better to simply allow sensation and emotion to carry them. Ignore the inherent awkwardness and revel in sensations. That said, however, he and Gaby both seemed to be of the same mind in regards to what they wanted to do first and Illya wasn’t really going to have any say in the matter.

Gaby had Illya pinned on the bed, legs spread over his hips as she ground against him and trailed kisses down his chest. Solo watched with a smile as Illya panted.   
“Gaby, I think Illya needs to let go of some tension.”

She paused, peering up at him. “Do you want to share?”

“I wouldn’t mind.” He knelt down on the bed as she slipped off Illya so that they faced each other with the Russian between them on the bed. He gave them both long, suspicious looks. “What are you up to now?”

Solo went for Illya’s fly. “As I said, Gaby and I are going to share...and relieve some of your tension.”

Illya’s erection was already straining his underwear. Gaby smiled, leaning down to suck a damp mark onto the fabric. Illya swore.

“Don’t tease,” he whispered.

She bit down on her lip, slipping her hand into his underwear and drawing out his hard, thick length.

Solo watched in bemusement as Gaby began to lick, from base to tip and then back again. She dragged her tongue over the long length with precision, following after with stroking fingers.

She wrapped her mouth around the head, sucking, licking and then coming back up again to look at Solo, lips red. “Well?”

Solo smiled and bent down over Illya, taking his turn. His long fingers wrapping around the spit-slick flesh and his lips following after as he endeavored to take the entirety of Illya’s length into his mouth.

The took turns, Solo and Gaby, sucking and licking, fingernails dragging over Illya’s chest--one kissing his neck or grazing on his nipples while the other continued to play below. Illya moaned, gasping now and again when one of them would suck at the head.

“Naughty,” he breathed.

Gaby mounted his hips again while Solo worked on his nipples. She rolled her hips, pressing her silk panties against him, moaning as the hard length of his cock slipped over the wet fabric. Illya was getting close, panting, holding back with his hands clenching the sheets.

“Where do you want to come?” Gaby asked, still rocking against him.

“On you--on you both. In your mouths.”

Gaby pulled off of him and looked to Solo. The pair bent down over Illya’s dick, sharing him, licking him, kissing it, each other, fingers running up and down until with a groan, Illya began to come. He watched as first Gaby, and then Solo, caught it in their mouths, swallowing with feral smiles.

“You are both--incorrigible,” he panted.

“And we’re just started, comrade,” Solo promised.

Illya sat up, wiping Solo’s chin with his thumb. Solo glanced at the thumb and sucked it clean with a smile.

“I think you are going to ruin those pants,” Illya said, glancing down at the erection straining Solo’s trousers.

“Oh?”

“Yes.” He put his hand on Solo’s crotch and squeezed, smiling when Solo’s dick twitched in response. “Gaby, lie on back and finger yourself, keep underwear on.”

Solo watched as Gaby crawled to the headboard, fixated by the damp patch on her underwear as her ass swayed. She turned, settling her back against the headboard and spreading her legs and slipping a hand into her underwear, fingers sliding under the wet silk.

Her little sounds of pleasure were enchanting, tiny mewls and pants as she reached desperately for climax. But just before she could, Illya stopped her with a hand on her wrist.

“Not yet. Not until I say.”

She licked her lips and nodded.

“Keep going,” he said.

Slower now, with frequent pauses, she continued, eyes on Illya and lips swollen. Illya looked at Solo.

“She wanted to watch us, as I recall.” He settled down at the end of the bed, just opposite Gaby, legs stretched out. “Over my lap, Cowboy.”

Solo looked at Gaby and then back at Illya, shaking his head.

“She doesn’t come until you do and you do not come until your ass is red.”

Solo felt his heart beat skip. He swallowed and reached for his fly.

“No, I said--you are going to ruin those pants.”

“But--”

“Now.”  
Solo felt an electric thrill at the tone and immediately crawled across Illya’s lap. He could feel Illya half hard next to his own dick. “How will you know my ass is red if my pants are on?”

“I will know.” The first spank took Solo by surprise, but Illya quickly settled into his rhythm. Solo found himself rising up to meet the strikes, grinding down into Illya’s lap when they fell. The longer it went on the more the friction of his dick against his damp underwear, against Illya, started to drive him crazy.

He whined, moaned and finally begged, muttering in uncertain terms what he would do if he could just please come.

Illya’s strikes became harder, faster, driving Solo’s hips to grind harder against him until at last, in the aftershock of pain--Solo came in his pants, breathing harder than he could ever remember, heart pounding in his chest and arms shaking. It was then that Illya turned Solo’s head toward Gaby, making sure he was watching her.

“All right, now you may come, Gaby.”

Solo couldn’t help but notice how her legs shook as she worked herself--finally--over the edge and screamed her release followed by a sort of boneless relaxation.

He also couldn’t help but notice Illya, hard again against his stomach.

Illya gently stripped Solo out of his clothes, dropping the ruined pants to the floor and laying him down on his stomach at the end of the bed, red ass in the air. Illya reached for Gaby, drawing her underwear down to her knees, and lowered his head into the wet mess.

She whimpered, but he was relentless and before long, she was begging, gripping his hair tight as his tongue brought her to another orgasm. He smiled at her, pulling up to kiss her deeply.

“Now you may have me inside you,” he said.

“No...it’s too much,” she shook her head.

He whispered something to her in Russian.

Red?

She shook her head and gave a soft smile.

His posture became dominant again. “You will.” He pulled her close. Solo watched, half aroused and half amazed as Illya managed to slip on a condom and then thrust inside her. Solo wasn’t fully aware, still in a bit post-orgams daze himself, but he thought he watched Gaby come twice more before Illya withdrew, her eyes lidded in fatigue, a smile on her lips. Illya drew back to Solo and started on him.

“She wants to watch,” Illya reminded him. “Have to make sure she get’s good show before she falls asleep.”

Solo couldn’t find a reason to argue, and wouldn’t. Instead, he let himself revel in Illya slowly fucking him to another orgasm before the tall Russian cleaned up his partners and they settled into an exhausted heap on the bed, arms and legs intertwined, fingers knit. Illya in the middle, Gaby’s head resting on his left shoulder, and Solo’s on his right. They were fast asleep, content and trusting.

He smiled, cherishing the moment of peace. “I love you, my little kittens,” he whispered in Russian, before falling to sleep himself.

***  
 _At week’s end_

 

“So,” Waverly paced at his desk, peering at his agents with skepticism. “How did the team-building go?”

Solo, ass still smarting from an early morning romp, smiled brightly. “I can say affirmatively that we’ve never been closer, sir.”

“Yes,” Illya agreed. “I think we have ironed out most problems.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Gaby tacked on.

“Good. Because I have to send you to Prague and I wanted to make sure that you are all on the same team.”  
“Yes sir,” they said.

“All right, head out then. I’ll see you in a couple months.”

 _Closer._ Solo thought. _Definitely closer._ He looked at Illya as they trooped out of the office, the Russian’s hand at the small of his back in a guiding gesture he was likely unaware of.

_I might love you to, Peril._

Not, that he would ever say it.


	5. Deleted Scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here are some scenes that didn't make into the actual flow of the story but I wanted to share them anyway.

 

“I’m telling you, this is great way to build trust,” Solo said, hand held out to Gaby as he turned up the volume. 

“You want to dance with me?” she replied. 

“At least I’m willing to, Peril seems like the sort that doesn’t dance.” 

She managed a smile. “All right, Napoleon.” 

Illya watched from the couch as Solo led Gaby in a competent waltz. He had restrained flair and kept his hand respectfully on her waist. He made sure to dip her gracefully at the end of it, and glanced at Illya, eyebrows raised.    
“Well, Peril?”   
“I keep telling you, Russian’s do this better.” He stood up, taking Gaby’s hands. “Put on tango. I show you how we dance in Russia, eh?”

Solo raised his eyebrows and complied. “All right, Peril. Show us what you can do.” He  Solo took a seat, crossing his legs and leaning back in interest. He half wished he had a camera to record what was certain to be an interesting display. 

The moment the first beat played, Illya straightened. His carriage perfectly in line as he led Gaby through a spirited tango. Solo watched, eyes wide, as Illya swept the small brunette through the dance with more grace than Solo had ever imagined Illya possessed. It was controlled, passionate and incredibly sexy. 

When the music stopped, Gaby was panting, eyes wide as she stared at Illya. 

“That was...unexpected.” 

“Well, I was supposed to be Olympian,” Illya admitted. 

“Oh.” She blinked and then kissed him, mussing his hair and clinging to him. 

Solo filed the event away in his mind for a later date while Gaby climbed Illya like a sturdy Russian tree. 

  
  


***

 

“Put me down, Illya,” Gaby demanded from her position over the Russian’s shoulder. “Now.”

“I told you, recklessness will be punished. You drove that car into a lake.”

“Yes, but I jumped out  first .” 

“You could have been killed.”   
“But I wasn’t.” 

“You also set off bomb five minutes early.”

“That was a mistake anyone could have made.”

“And you missed shooting Solo in head by two inches because you insisted you don’t need more firearms practice...which you do. And I will give you, after we are finished here.”   
She struggled, hoping that Solo would appear to help her, but then, she  had almost killed him so perhaps he thought she had this coming. 

He did, but he was also aware that he himself hadn’t quite been on point during the mission and was hoping that Illya would forget about it since Gaby had failed so spectacularly so he was making himself scarce. 

“Never mind the things I have let go because you are inexperienced.”   
She took a breath and stilled. “Illya,” she put every ounce of seduction she could into his name. “Illya…”

He smacked her ass, the crack echoing off the walls. She gasped.  

“You will not sway with me honeyed words.” 

He carried her to the closest piece of furniture--a white leather armchair--and sat down, pinning her over his lap with ease. She was strong, but he was enormous and had arms like tree branches. 

Illya wasn’t one to neglect his duties. He pulled down the tight capris she was wearing and eyed the lacy bit of underwear for a moment before tugging those down as well. 

“I am going to spank you until you see reason, do you understand?”

“I’m going to slit your throat while you sleep,” she replied. 

“You’ll feel differently later.” 

“I really won’t.” 

He took that as a good time to start, laying into her with even quick paced slaps to her ass, taking care to evenly color both cheeks as he went. Gaby had struggled in the beginning, but as it went on, she stilled and began to sob in earnest. She whimpered, begged and finally began to apologize, entirely in German. 

Illya scooped her up into his arms, wiping the tears from her eyes and pushing her hair away from her face. “Shh. It’s over.” He kissed her forehead. “I forgive you.”   
She pushed her face into his chest. She knew, deep down, that he was  sort of right. Her has really hurt and she  was sorry but she was also plotting his doom. 

German girls do not forgive easily. 

Illya was probably going to regret ever getting involved with not one, but two morally ambiguous individuals with very creative minds. 

And access to guns. 

 


End file.
